


There Shall Be No More Death

by Ravenclaw_Peredhel



Series: If I Should Fall [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Death, F/M, Gen, Happy ending what happy ending, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Peredhel/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Peredhel
Summary: Morwen's begetting day goes horribly wrong.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo/Maedhros | Maitimo's Wife
Series: If I Should Fall [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023415
Comments: 45
Kudos: 9





	There Shall Be No More Death

It was Morwen's five hundreth begettingday. The day dawned bright and clear as Merenel waved her family off. 

They were going for a ride in the woods, and she was preparing the feast for when they returned. It had been quiet recently, which was why they took the chance. 

Turning back to re-enter the fortress of Amon Ereb, Merenel wondered absently why she felt cold. It was a warm summer's day after all.

********************

Heavy footsteps. She wiped her hands and stood back to admire the centre-piece of clematis and apple blossoms. It was all exactly as Morwen would like. 

The door banged open. Merenel was turning. 

Why was it so loud? A sudden terrible empty feeling in her heart. 

Maedhros strode in, his face bleak. There was a long deep scratch on his cheek. She should deal with that before it got infected. The pattering of two pairs of little feet, and the twins barrelled into her, trembling, clutching her skirt as Gil-galad let go of their hands. Where was Morwen?

Maedhros could not look her in the eye. Maglor...where was Maglor. 

More footsteps. She buried her face in the twins' hair, knowing that she did not want to see. It must be Erestor, Morwen's fiancée. 

"Merenel." She had not heard such pain in his voice since the death of the Ambarrussar. No, she did not want to look. But her eyes dragged up against her will. 

Red-gold hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Morwen's favourite copper circlet.

Was Morwen wounded? It would make for an unpleasant begetting day for her certainly. 

Then she noticed something else. And she screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and she could not stop screaming. 

Because her daughter's body was missing. Her daughter's body was missing. Morwen's body was missing. 

She could not breathe. She could not think. She could only scream and wail, because that assuaged in some small way the sudden gaping hole within her. 

Where was Morwen's body? Morwen's body was missing. Was missing. Missing.

Arms around her, warm and familiar. Red curls obscuring her vision. "Merenel. Merenel." Tears raining down her cheeks, she needed to get to her daughter. Arms, those same arms restraining her. "Merenel, meldanya, please." No. Morwen! If she could just get to her daughter, it would be alright. She knew it. 

Her voice was giving out. Maglor and the children were long gone, only Erestor and her daughter's body remaining. Her daughter's head. 

And Maedhros. Maedhros who was holding her, preventing her from getting to her daughter. 

******************

_Sometime in the Third Age_

The gravestone was the only remaining relic of the Noldor untouched by time on the lonely isle of Tol Himling. The fishermen rowed out from time to time to pay their respects to the long dead elven princess, and it was a tradition of sorts. 

Today it was Beomann's turn. He had brought a branch of apple blossom, white and sweet-scented to lay on the princess's grave.

As he approached the island, he noticed another boat drawn up. Hoping it was nothing dangerous, he slipped up the winding path to the top of the isle. 

A woman knelt before the grave, weeping. Her grey hood covered her face, but stray strands of silvery hair trailed down from it. "Ma'am? You really shouldn't be there. Tis bad luck to touch the soil where an elf's buried, or so me ma says."

"Luck." He jumped slightly at the bitterness in the voice that issued from the hood. "There is no longer any bad luck with the strength to touch me child." 

Beomann bristled. "Now see here missus. I'm twenty years old two months ago, and from the looks of your hands, you can't be all that much older than me, beggin' your pardon." 

The woman laughed again. "Is that so child?" She stood, towering over him, even as she bent over the grave. "You have much to learn still." A single white clematis flower floated from her hand down to rest before the grave, perfect as no flower he had ever before seen. 

Then the woman turned and threw back her hood, and it was as though a light shone in the quiet dimness of the evening. Her features were hard and fine, as though she were a statue with a light shining through it. And she was beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen before or would again. Then Beomann saw her ears, tapering to a point. "You're an elf!" 

"Yes."

"You...you knew the princess?" Why else would she weep for a woman long dead and gone?

A shadow passed over the elf's face. "Longer than anyone. I was there when she was born, and here I am, when she is but a memory."

Beomanm gulped. He was talking to an elf! He felt a bit faint. "Did...did you...were you there when she died my lady?" A terrible look came upon the elven lady's face, and he hurriedly took several steps back, the audacity of his question hitting him. 

"No." Her voice was suddenly very soft and sad, and he realised just how old she was. "But I buried her. I buried my daughter, and I buried my son and I could not bury my husband for he lay within the fiery heart of the earth." Beomann blinked, and the lady was gone leaving only a whisper in the wind.

He never saw her again, but the once - when the Reunited Kingdom arose once more, and the Queen's father rode with his household to Annuminas for a feast-day. 

But ever after, clematis flowers bloomed on the isle of Tol Himling, and a voice could be heard on the wind, sometimes weeping, sometimes screaming, and sometimes speaking. And those lucky few who heard it speak and remained sane, said that it spoke of death, and of grief, and of an elven princess, who's body was never found, but only her head.

Yet in the West to this day, live the elven lady and her daughter, in joy and gladness.

_~And God shall wipe all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.~_

**Author's Note:**

> So more weird shit courtesy of me, you're welcome.
> 
> The quote is from revelation 21:4.
> 
> Also, I have no idea where I got the name Beomann from, but it sure as hell ain't mine so if you know please comment and tell me thanks. 
> 
> Read and review.


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